


Charles Bronson

by Brenda



Series: The Lazy Hazy Summer Daze Writing Challenge [1]
Category: Boondock Saints (Movies)
Genre: M/M, The Lazy Hazy Summer Daze Writing Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-02
Updated: 2013-08-02
Packaged: 2017-12-22 05:10:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/909299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brenda/pseuds/Brenda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's all Connor's fault, even if he <i>is</i> the one with the best ideas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Charles Bronson

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the first day of the **[The Lazy Hazy Summer Daze Writing Challenge](http://azewewish.livejournal.com/1074772.html)** for [](http://idiosyncratic.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://idiosyncratic.livejournal.com/)**idiosyncratic** , who asked for BDS rope fic.

"Y'know," Murphy complained, working steadily at the myriad of knots holding his ankles together, his voice a rough burr of annoyance that never failed to set Connor's hackles rising, "next time ye come to me with another of your stupid, grand ideas, I'm taping yer stupid fucking mouth shut."

"Fuck off, it worked, didn't it?" Connor rejoined. He leveled a glare at Murphy – somewhat mitigated by the fact that Murphy couldn't see them, trussed up back to back like they were. Not to mention, it was pitch dark in the claustrophobically small closet they'd been unceremoniously shoved into, but still. The thought fucking counted.

"Aye, it bloody well worked alright. Except for the part where you and yer stupid fucking useless rope almost got us killed." Murphy made a noise of triumph as the knots finally gave way to his persistence. It didn't happen often, and he'd never admit it out loud, but there were times when Connor admired Murphy's sheer, bloody-minded stubbornness.

Murphy kicked the rope aside and flexed against the ones still binding their wrists together. "Don't suppose ye can reach the knife in yer back pocket," he asked, like he hadn't just royally pissed Connor off to the point where Connor didn't even care if they were discovered and slaughtered like sacrificial lambs. T'would serve Murphy right.

Almost got them killed, Connor's arse. How many times had bringing the rope along saved his brother's sorry hide, that's what he'd like to know. Not that Murph would ever admit it, nae, that'd be too much to fucking ask, wouldn't it. " _You_ fucking well get it."

"Typical," Murphy snorted. "Let me do all the bloody work and later on, you'll take all the fucking credit and get all the backslaps and get all the shots at the pub bought for your selfish hide."

"Fuck you, I deserve the credit. Brought the grenades, didn't I?"

"And almost blew up our truck, ye stupid git, now hold the fuck still or I'll be ripping you a new asshole for real."

Fucking ingrate, Connor thought, fighting not to squirm as Murphy's fingers worked their way into his back pocket. Next time, he was bloody well sitting back and making his stupid brother make all the plans. Of course, since Murphy couldn't plan his way out of a wet paper bag, he was like as not liable to get them both killed, but the point would be made, and that was something worth dying for.

***


End file.
